


blow a kiss; fire a gun

by hitlikehammers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (And Making Out and Maybe Some Heavy Petting I Mean They're Supersoldiers You Can't Stop Them), Flirting During Battle, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Schmoop, Snark, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve and Bucky flirt (and more, rather unrepentantly) during battle.</p><p>Because they’re supersoldiers. And multitasking is kinda their thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blow a kiss; fire a gun

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [接个吻，打个枪](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002407) by [Pearlson613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlson613/pseuds/Pearlson613)



> This story was already a story of flirting and touching and kissing in the middle of battle, because [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqeW9_5kURI) is catchy as fuck.
> 
> The proposal was added because of [this](https://staticapp.icpsc.com/icp/loadimage.php/mogile/703908/d0d4b50e7b7a7934c7ac1d7562c56129/image/jpeg): which is known as “Action Pose Captain America”.
> 
> Which is wrong, because that’s obviously “Proposal Pose Captain America.” Silly Funko people. Duh.

From the first, Steve had sworn it: the moment it interfered with the mission, with the task at hand, with rendering justice and protecting the innocent, they’d stop. Cold turkey, no questions asked, no comments made. No nothing. 

Thing is though: they’re supersoldiers. Multitasking is kinda their thing. 

“Get a room, grandpas.” Stark nearly gets slammed by the oversized primate things they’re fighting for the quip, and it would’ve served him fuckin’ right, y’know? Always had to be the smartass. And Bucky’d thought _Howard_ was bad.

“More like a display case, fucking fossils,” Natasha snarks, taking out two of the hulking-Predator type fucks hounding their asses. They’re pretty dumb, though, so their size is really the only thing they’ve got going for them.

“Fossils don’t pull shit like _that_ ,” Clint laments, shooting his fancy new decablade-thingys-Bucky’s-forgot-the-rest-of-the-name-for that take out ten targets at a go.

Fucking showoff.

“Neither do grandpas,” Bucky finally points out, pulling back from Steve’s mouth to do so and landing a roundhouse hard enough to decapitate the beast-thing at his left while shooting seven-eight-nine more approaching from the right; “which we’re not.”

Decabladey-thingies his _ass_

“In _any_ sense,” Steve tacks on, spinning to take on the next wave and squeezing Bucky’s oh-so-well-framed ass in the process; “literal or figurative.”

Stark had wanted to redesign the uniform; Bucky wonders if displays like this have given away the real reasons for Bucky’s unwillingness to cooperate on that point.

“What, Stevie, you weren’t sowing those wild oats on your national Hitler-socking tour?” Bucky tries real hard to make it a serious, scandalized inquiry. 

No, that’s a fucking lie. He doesn’t try real hard. He could have kept the smirk, the light in his eyes to himself.

He doesn’t. So.

“Shut it, jerk,” Steve growls, but it’s more lusty than angry, and maybe Bucky’d be okay with a few uniform adjustments around the cowl, because he’s gettin’ real hot under the collar. Don’t matter how many times it’s happened. Still gets him each and every time.

“You shut it,” Bucky snarks back, petulant up until Steve gets close enough for him to nip, to lap quick and teasing at the corner of his mouth before he shoots just over Steve’s shoulder at the oncoming enemy.

“I’ll shut you,” Steve hisses, and shoves his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, which was the desired effect, so. 

“Gentlemen!” It’s Wilson, now, trying to sway them from the main event. “The task at ha—”

Steve barely opens his eyes to send the shield ricocheting in a neat arc to take out every hostile in their immediate vicinity, while Bucky simultaneously runs a palm down Stevie’s chest, Stevie’s side, mapping the muscles before he grabs for a grenade at his own waist and throws.

“Fucking hell,” Sam marvels, and Bucky smirks—he’d known he hit his targets, because, well.

He knows that kind of shit.

“How do they _do_ that?”

“Practice, Wilson,” Bucky quips, dragging Steve in, flush against him and ravaging his mouth for all of the ten-point-two seconds they’ve got to spare before another asshole creature comes for them.

“A coupla lifetime’s worth, in fact,” Steve says it right against his lips, and yeah, a couple of ‘em, better and worse but always _them_ and after everything, through everything:

 _This_ is the life.

___________________________________________

So: a) it isn’t new, and more importantly, b) it sure ain’t stopping any time soon.

“Disgusting,” Stark throws at them when Bucky sucks a bruise deep enough not to fade until morning into Steve’s neck while throwing a blade neatly into an oncoming target’s jugular; he lets Steve respond with a quick, “Jealousy will get you nowhere,” breathy as fuck; because Bucky’s busy. With infinitely more important matters.

That bruise don’t fade for two full days, thank you very much. 

“Excessive,” Rhodes says, more to himself than anything, when Steve throws his body straight over Bucky’s, hip to hip to protect him until his own serum takes care of the wounds he’s sustained; first words Bucky manages as soon as he’s healed enough, some moments later, even if he’s still coughing up his own blood: “You just wish he was _your_ shield, Colonel.”

Shuts him up real good, too. Too bad that brushed silver mask don’t blush, teach him to stick his nose where it don’t belong.

“I can’t even,” Nat says, basically at every possible instance. The most common retort she gets, from both culpable parties: “Good thing _he_ can.”

She rolls her eyes. Of course she does.

“Masterful timing!” Thor congratulates them after a particularly well-executed switch from heavy petting to heavy fire. And Bucky thanks him, genuinely.

He always knew he liked Thor.

“Get a room,” Sam likes to say, more exhausted and fed up than actually aggravated. Man’s a teddy bear, really.

And he still flushes when Steve raises an eyebrow and asks, “Where d’ya think we were last night?”

Fuck, but Bucky loves his man.

“Three point two seconds to impact, Captain, Agent,” the Vision likes to remind them in infinite variations when they’re jumping from the jet and maybe making a show of getting tangled in one another’s limbs in the process of free-falling to the ground.

“Three point _six_ seconds,” Steve calls back, repositioning his body to be less aerodynamic, maybe, but still as close to Bucky as possible.

Which is the best way to land, really.

“Impressive,” Wanda snarks at them, and well, _yeah_ ; “Interesting technique,” T’Challa says blandly, and Bucky’ll take it, but then.

“You’re not even _trying_.”

Then, there’s Clint. 

“Trying at what?” Steve’s still good-natured enough to ask.

“You don't have clearance to see what it looks like when I'm _tryin’_ , Barton.” Bucky, by contrast, isn't good-natured at all. 

“To be discreet, goddamnit,” Clint answers Steve and ignores Bucky, which is typical.

And of course they weren't aiming for fucking _discretion_ , hell. Bucky had been pretty clean about putting his hips up against Steve, and if Steve rocks forward hard when he chucks the shield, and if Bucky braces awkwardly from the waist when he shoots ‘cause the payoff is damn well worth it, then, no. 

Discretion was not on the menu. 

“It’s just the way we fight,” Steve tries to protest, but it's weak, and Bucky can;t help but call him out on it, for anyone who still hasn't figured out that Steve’s a little shit who plays them all like a violin.

“You kidding me?” Bucky checks that the coast is fairly clear before staring Steve down, eye to eye. “Rogers, what the hell? You think _Hydra_ was going around teaching the Bridal-Carry-Offense to all its top assassins?”

And Bucky doesn't quite expect how Steve freezes, stares back at him, slack-jawed and wondering; they'd both known he was lying to Clint. 

Steve hadn't known this particular detail, though, it seems.

“What?”

Well. No time like the present. 

“I didn’t know what you were, who you were,” Bucky says it, straight and plain because it's a piece of him, yes, but far enough now to feel faded, an old scar that only twinges with the rain. “But I knew you were supposed to be close,” he steps back into Steve’s space and breathes against his lips: 

“Real fuckin’ close, Stevie.”

Steve’s got that torn open look, bleeding out from his soul with all the love and yearning, all the lost time they’re both most concerned about, in the now, in terms of making up tenfold—Steve’s pupils are huge and Bucky’s heart's thumping real hard, and there’s a battle still simmering around them, but neither one of them could be further from the fight.

“Let’s finish this,” Steve rasps, eyes never leaving Bucky’s, never hiding everything that lives inside, and Bucky thinks maybe this is what he was kept for. Through everything.

If there was a reason to it at all, he thinks: this is probably it.

“What,” he hears Stark through the comms; “so you can finish this in bed?”

“Yes,” and Steve doesn’t pause, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even consider; just burns into Bucky’s eyes and lives in the heady drumbeat of his pulse. “That a problem?”

They don’t wait for a response—move in tandem to shut the enemy down, because, well, yeah.

They’ve started something, just the two of ‘em. So maybe Bucky fights harder, channels a ruthlessness he hasn’t touched in a little while in order to see the back of this fight. Because Steve and him, they’ve _started something_ , and maybe the crotch of his uniform is gettin’ a little tight: they’ve _started_ something.

And it’s high time to finish it.

___________________________________________

This time, the battle’s mostly over. Not that they didn’t make the most of the adrenaline high when they were able, but it was a quick sort of skirmish, and the payoff was tame as a result.

Bucky’s not complaining, mind. He’d be out of his goddamn _mind_ to complain when he gets to fight next to the love of his life, when he gets to watch that stupid punk’s six, take him home, end each day and greet each new one at his side—Bucky’d be a fool to complain.

So he ain’t.

But the battle’s mostly over, and Stark’s taking down the last of the bastards a good hundred yards from them, so Bucky starts stripping off his holsters, sighs deep with the end of the brawl and all it takes, and turns to Steve, who’s hopefully decided to open up that fantastic panel over his abs, even though Bucky knows better than to think Steve’d give the team a show: that’s for Bucky’s eyes only.

Still. S’where his head goes. 

But Steve’s still crouched, nearer now than Bucky’d noticed before—all the better, but then the way he’s positioned registers in Bucky’s mind and he hardens his own stance, eyes searching for whatever lingering threat Steve’s seen that Bucky’s missed: but he looks, and—nothing.

He glances a question at Steve only to catch the glint when the angle of the sun when he turns, and, oh.

Steve’s not crouched. 

Steve’s down on one fucking knee.

“So, jerk,” Steve says softly, but it’s the loudest thing, the only thing Bucky can hear, can know, as his heart starts to ratchet up, pound fierceness and light against his ribs because this isn’t real, this isn’t happening, and yet.

Yet.

“Seriously?” Barton screeches, having seen them, having put the scene together: and that’s what snaps Bucky out of his marveling, his inability to equate _this_ with his own real-flesh-and-blood _life_ —Barton being a petulant asshole about their PDAs. 

Bucky’s grin starts slow, but it’s bigger than he’s ever known, he can say that right now.

“Well, where else were we gonna do it?” Steve answers simply, eyes never wavering from Bucky’s, hand never shaking where it’s outstretched in offering, the ring between his fingers like a beacon in the settling dust.

“Naw, that ain’t us,” Bucky murmurs, suddenly hoarse, suddenly overcome. “That us, Stevie?”

And Steve’s smile grows too, then, when he answers. “Ain’t never been us.”

“Right.” Bucky finds himself sinking to his knees, level with the man who takes up all the space in his chest, meeting him straight on. He reaches out, cups Steve’s cheek and lets Steve lean into the touch because maybe they both can’t believe it, just then.

Maybe they both need to feel to know. 

“You haven’t answered me,” Steve exhales low.

Bucky blinks. “You fuckin’ serious?”

Steve shrugs, cheek heating under Bucky’s touch. “It’s kinda what you do.”

And that’s fair.

So Bucky leans and kisses Steve until neither of their serum-suped-up lungs can take in air.

“That answer enough?” Bucky gasps as Steve’s chest heaves, as his eyes go big, mouth wide as he breathes heavy, fast, and deep, watching Bucky like he’s the fucking sun.

“Goddamn, I love you,” Steve breathes out, face only brightening that much more as Bucky reaches to grasp his hand.

“I’ll take that now, by the way,” he says as he plucks the ring from Steve’s grasp, admiring it in the light in a way that shouldn’t feel as real and right as it does.

But it _does_.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Steve beams that smile of his that’s never changed, that never fit his face no matter how big his face actually _was_ , because there’s nothing in the world as big as his Stevie’s heart, his Stevie’s _soul_ , and that’s what the smile is, that’s what it shows.

And Bucky can’t help but kiss it senseless, just to _taste_.

“Love you back, babydoll,” he breathes into Steve’s lips, Steve’s mouth, Steve’s lungs.

“That’s revolting.” 

From Stark, this time. Not surprising.

And also not the least bit important.

“I love you there and back,” and Steve pulls the ring from Bucky’s grip to slip on his finger proper, and yeah. There, and back. Because the end of the line?

It only ends up turning ‘round to go the other way again—starting over. Starting _new_.

And the ring? Perfect fucking fit, too.

 _Hell_ of a start.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://hitlikehammers.tumblr.com).


End file.
